


How Not to Resolve UST

by lecturience



Category: Naruto
Genre: F/M, Flaily Madara, Gender-Fluid Tobirama, Henge no Jutsu, Inconvenient Feelings, M/M, More Sex, Mutual Pining, Not Actually Unrequited Love, One Night Stand, One Shot, Oops, Switching
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-01-13
Updated: 2020-01-13
Packaged: 2021-02-27 14:28:32
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 8,378
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22238635
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/lecturience/pseuds/lecturience
Summary: Tragically, when it came to looks, Madara wasexactlyTobirama’s type.Thank gods for the Transformation Jutsu. Discretely getting laid was the perfect distraction from his ill-advised crush.Now if only he—she—could figure out why her casual hook-up’s grin looked vaguely familiar…
Relationships: Senju Tobirama/Uchiha Madara
Comments: 36
Kudos: 580
Collections: Lovely Pieces





	How Not to Resolve UST

**Author's Note:**

> My half-hearted attempt to add plot to my MadaTobi porn. Mixed success. But tiny Kagami makes a cameo, so… score?

When news came in that Kumo had managed to abduct an Uchiha child, Tobirama wasn’t the least bit surprised to find that Madara’s immediate reaction was to go incandescent with fury. Tobirama could relate. For once their tempers didn’t clash, but balanced one another—Madara’s fiery anger and Tobirama’s icy rage in accord that this would _not_ go unanswered.

“Obviously we’re rescuing him, but the two of you would be overkill,” Hashirama tried to reason. “The last thing we want is to start a war. Kumo is younger even than Konoha, but reports say it’s already strong.”

Madara snarled. “Don’t ask me to be merciful to _bloodline thieves_.”

“We can’t afford to let anyone believe Konoha will back down on this,” Tobirama agreed sharply. “We show that sort of weakness, we invite them to do it again.”

“They’re _dead_. I’ll kill them all!”

“They took a _child of the village_.”

“We built Konoha to protect children, Hashirama, so they could grow up safe. It’s time to prove it.”

“We’ll get Kagami back, brother,” Tobirama said. “And leave a message strong enough it hopefully doesn’t need repeating. That’s the closest you’ll get to a merciful outcome here.”

Hashirama looked between them and sighed, bowing his head. “Alright. Go.”

They disappeared before he even finished speaking. Flashing home, they geared up quickly and met up back at Konoha’s main gates. Taking to the trees, they set out at a blistering pace.

“Hikaku gone ahead?” Tobirama called, but he was frowning, because his focus was trained ahead on their quarry, and Hikaku was nowhere in between them.

Madara grimaced. “He tried. I’ve got Izuna sitting on him.” At the deepening frown, he explained, “Broke his leg in a sparring accident of all things just yesterday. Shittiest timing, but can’t be helped.”

Tobirama winced.

“I promised to bring his son back safe in his stead,” Madara said, voice grim. “And I intend to keep it.”

“Well, let’s pick up the pace then.”

* * *

The battle was bloody and vicious and over far too quickly for Tobirama’s liking. He was not a sadistic man by nature, but when it came to child hunters of any stripe, he was willing to make an exception. The priority had been Kagami though—extracting him, protecting him, and killing every single person who had tried to hurt him so that they could be sure he was safe. That didn’t leave much room for… playing with their food. Tobirama had to settle for their terror at his own ominous calm and Madara’s bloodthirsty grin.

Once the last enemy fell, Tobirama left the clean-up to Madara and hurried to the boy. Hands glowing green, he scanned him, relieved to find minimal injuries—just some bad bruising from rough handling, and abrasions where his wrists and ankles had been tied. Tobirama healed him quickly, talking gently all the while.

“It’s okay now, Kagami, you’re alright. They’re all dead and can’t hurt you anymore. Your father is waiting for you back in Konoha. You’ve been so brave, and he’ll be _so_ proud of you, so glad you’re safe.”

Kagami stared up at him, dark eyes wide and quickly welling with tears. He squeezed them shut, face scrunching up, but it was no use—he burst into sobs, throwing himself into Tobirama’s arms. Tobirama caught him easily and rose to his feet, settling Kagami on his hip. He swayed side to side, rubbing his back and humming wordless lullabies until Kagami’s cries faded into fitful slumber, the exhaustion of his ordeal finally catching up to him.

Done with clean-up—which was less clean-up and more leaving a bloody, pointed message—Madara wandered closer. He reached out to touch one of Kagami’s pudgy, tearstained cheeks with careful fingers, then sighed in relief, as if he’d needed the physical reassurance that his young clansman was safe.

“You’re good at that,” Madara said quietly.

“Hmm?”

He waved a hand. “That. Calming him down. And I’m pretty sure he got snot on your precious fur but you didn’t even flinch.”

“I wouldn’t wear it into battle if it was that fragile,” Tobirama pointed out, tone still soft so as not to wake Kagami, rather than faintly condescending as he’d prefer. Because really, his fur had seen _much_ worse bodily fluids—blood, bile, even brain matter a time or two. “And I like children well enough. They’re messy, but… perhaps it’s because the world is still new to them, still a mystery to be solved, but they have an _inquisitiveness_ I find adults often lack.” He shrugged. “I approve of intellectual curiosity on principle.”

“Huh. Plan on having some of your own one day then?”

Tobirama stiffened, old pain resurfacing. “No. That is… unlikely, given my preferences.”

Madara blinked. “Your…? Oh! I didn’t know you—” He coughed.

Tobirama shrugged and glanced away. “You?” he asked, out of vague politeness, and also to subtly redirect the conversation. Because his sex life was… depressing.

And complicated.

It wasn’t that Tobirama didn’t want a relationship—he’d _like_ someone to share his life with—but outside of Hashirama, Madara, Izuna, Mito and Tōka—the core of Konoha’s government—he didn’t interact with anyone on a regular basis. There was simply no time or opportunity to dedicate to building and maintaining a relationship, so he had to settle for brief, disguised hook-ups.

_Disguised_ because, when one held an important position, casual encounters came with risks. And he didn’t mean assassination.

There had been an incident when he was younger. A girl his age at a nearby town, who he’d been polite to because her father was the best local source for purchasing quality ink, had tried to kiss him once. When he’d rejected her, she wove the story of a romance to her father, insisting that Tobirama really must marry her to keep both their reputations. Tobirama had naturally refuted her claims, but that merchant had refused to do business with their clan ever again.

Tobirama had merely been the spare Senju heir back then—nowadays he was the _Hokage’s_ brother, and vital to the workings of Konoha. The consequences could be so much worse, especially if an _actual_ former lover got it in their head to cause trouble and stir up a scandal. The village was still in its infancy, still an experiment to some, and there were people, even in the daimyo’s court, who were looking for any hint of weakness or strife to pounce upon.

So disguised it was.

It was a good thing his Transformation Jutsu was so skilful.

“Er, both?” Madara said awkwardly.

Tobirama stared, confused, till he realised the misunderstanding. “I meant do you plan on having kids?” he clarified. “Not… your preferences.”

He relaxed though, amused at Madara’s expense.

_Only_ amused. That was all. Not the slightest bit… curious, at that revelation. And _definitely_ not thinking how Madara—who, he had noticed, more often than he was comfortable with, was actually quite attractive when he wasn’t frustrating Tobirama beyond the telling of it—was also on the list of the few people he saw regularly. Nope, not thinking it.

…Right.

“Oh.” Slightly flustered, Madara glanced away, crossing his arms. “Um, well. It might be nice, I guess, but I’d want someone to raise them with, and there’s no one yet, and if there is one day, it could as easily be a man…” He shrugged. “The elders push, of course—wanting an heir—but I’m not about to have a kid just for that reason. It seems too… cold. So I mostly ignore them, or just remind them there are other options.”

Suddenly alarmed, Tobirama blurted, “Izuna is _terrible_ with children.”

Madara blinked, then burst into laughter, only hushing when Kagami stirred fitfully, almost waking.

“Sorry,” he quickly apologised at Tobirama’s glare. “Just— Izuna as a father would be either hilarious or horrifying. Maybe both. Definitely both. No, Hikaku’s our first cousin on Father’s side.”

“ _Oh_.” Tobirama glanced down at Kagami in surprise… and slight disappointment. 

Madara scowled. “What’s with that tone? And that look? Kagami would make a _fine_ heir!”

“I agree. He’s bright, curious, talented, and very composed under pressure.”

“Composed.” Madara’s eyes went to a distinctly snot-clumped bit of fur.

“He was,” Tobirama insisted, absently running fingers through dark curls, and Kagami nestled closer, making a sleepy, contented sound that caused Madara’s gaze to soften. “He might have had a little breakdown at the end, but only once the danger was past. He held together well while under threat, took cover as ordered once rescued, but also took openings to back us up, causing distractions with well-aimed rocks and that… _Great Fireball_ ”—his lips twitched, because ‘great’ was probably not the right word for that little puffball of flame—“while making sure not to expose himself _or_ get in our way.”

Tobirama sighed. “He would have been a good student.”

“… _Would_ have?”

He glanced away. “It was just something I was considering. Obviously, if he’s potentially your clan’s heir, you’ll want him trained by one of your own.”

Madara hummed. “Do you really need another minion? Why do you keep collecting them anyway?”

Tobirama shot him an exasperated look. “You’ve been listening to Izuna. Don’t call them that—they’re my _students_. And much more intelligent company than your fool brother.”

Madara, for once, didn’t let himself be riled. He just kept looking at Tobirama, waiting. His expression was all patience—stubbornness, Tobirama tried to correct—though it leaned toward fondness and still lingering relief whenever he glanced at Kagami.

Hesitantly, not really sure why, given how revealing it would be, Tobirama decided to actually answer his question.

“There’s something very satisfying about cultivating young minds, and not just because I enjoy their curiosity. Teaching children, giving them the tools they need to survive and thrive, is… it’s building, creating something, rather than destroying as we ninja so often do.”

Madara was staring at him intensely, but Tobirama avoided his gaze, already regretting his uncharacteristic bout of candour.

Suddenly sensing a cluster of three signatures at the edge of his sensory range, Tobirama’s attention sharpened. Primarily lightning-natured and approaching from the north-east, he figured that was the abduction squad’s backup. Exactly what they’d been waiting for—assurance that someone from Kumo would come upon the bloody remains of the battle and convey the ‘message’ back to their village and Kage.

Tobirama opened his mouth to say they could leave now, but Madara spoke first.

“Is that why you invent?”

Tobirama’s head whipped around, eyes wide.

He’d started experimenting and inventing at a young age, and to his knowledge, no one had ever pieced together why. Not Father—who Tobirama had convincingly assured he was merely crafting new weapons to wield against the enemy—or Hashirama—who only half believed the excuse Father bought, and mostly thought that indulging in his beloved intellectual pursuits instead of training was Tobirama’s restrained version of rebellion… which was not _entirely_ inaccurate, but not the whole of it—not Tōka—who thought Tobirama was motivated by frustration at inefficient techniques… also partly true—and not Mito—who believed Tobirama had been captivated by the sealing knowledge the Uzumaki shared when her betrothal to Hashirama was arranged as children… again, not wrong, but not the most important part of it.

Because it _was_ a bit self-indulgence in what he loved, a bit his perfectionism wanting to make better techniques, and yes, seals _did_ fascinate him. But above all that… 

Tobirama had spent so much of his childhood being honed into a weapon, a blade in his father’s hand, that he’d sometimes feared he would forget who he truly was at his core, forget _why_ he fought so hard—for love and family. Inventing something, _creating something_ , was immensely satisfying because it was reminder and _proof_ that he was more than Father had wanted him to be. And the fact that Madara of all people was the first to realise that, at least a little…

Madara’s burst of insight was a bit uncomfortable actually.

It also warmed him in a way he couldn’t quite describe, for reasons he didn’t want to dwell on.

Thankfully, Madara just hummed and dropped the subject, and Tobirama finally announced they could leave, and they took to the trees, making conversation difficult. Tobirama noticed, however, that there was a thoughtful, speculative look in Madara’s eyes whenever he glanced his way. It was… distracting. And did not _at all_ help with the foolish thoughts from earlier that insisted on circling Tobirama’s mind—of Madara’s revealed preferences, and the fact _he_ was one of the few people Tobirama regularly interacted with. And also that, tragically, when it came to looks, Madara was _exactly_ Tobirama’s type.

Madara was also an arsehole, he reminded himself firmly, and they could rarely be in each other’s company for long without arguing.

…Though they _had_ gotten on fairly well this entire rescue mission.

Urgh.

Tobirama scowled the rest of the trip back, though he managed to muster up something resembling a kind look for the limping Hikaku, who met them at Konoha’s gates with tearful gratitude at the sight of Kagami alive and well. What he needed, Tobirama decided as he headed home, was to blow off some steam. And the usual method—sparring with Madara—would be… Well, getting sweaty and hands-on with the source of his frustration and conflicted feelings would be counterproductive. 

Perhaps he could put his Transformation Jutsu to use once more? It _had_ been a while.

Now to find the time…

* * *

A week later, Madara cornered Tobirama with a scowl and an accusing, “You!”

Tobirama blinked. “Me?”

“You’ve been avoiding me!”

He went to object, only to pause, thinking about it. He hadn’t _consciously_ been avoiding Madara, but given that they worked in the tower together, offices side by side, it had to be more than chance that he’d barely seen him at all since the rescue mission. Tobirama hid a wince, displeased with himself—he liked to think he was more self-aware than that, but apparently all his awareness had been taken up with focussing on _Madara_ and his many, regrettably attractive qualities, which he was doing his best to avoid acknowledging.

Madara huffed and crossed his arms. “Well, I’ve found you now. And I’ve talked to Hikaku. He agreed. Kagami will join your minion brigade at your next training session.”

Wait, was he actually saying…?

Tobirama just stared, long enough that Madara shifted uncomfortably.

“You can’t take it back now! Kagami’s really looking forward to it!”

He _was_. He really _had_ arranged for Tobirama—a _Senju_ —to teach what was potentially the _Uchiha heir_. 

Tobirama felt warm. While not generally free with his softer emotions—too conscious of his position and leaving no chink in his armour—he couldn’t help the faint smile that spread over his lips. The expression seemed to distract Madara for a moment, though probably not for the reasons that Tobirama—reluctantly, against his better judgement—might hope for.

But that didn’t matter, because clever, brave, curious Kagami was going to be his student!

“I promise to do my best by him,” Tobirama vowed earnestly.

Madara’s own expression softened, just a touch. “I don’t doubt it.” Then he scoffed, glancing away. “I’ve asked around—everyone knows you’ve got a soft spot for children a mile wide!”

As Madara stomped off, muttering something about needing a drink, Tobirama’s gaze slid down, admiring his—

He jerked his head away. Shit, trust the man to make his situation worse, and in a manner he couldn’t _actually_ fault him for. Tobirama couldn’t regret being entrusted with another child to guide, to protect, and to teach to protect themselves—he was already refining training plans in his head. Still, between that and the revelation of his avoidance, he’d really put things off long enough. Most of his paperwork was done, and there were no important meetings for a few days.

Tobirama was finally going to take the time to get away, and get _laid_ , and hopefully move past his ill-fated attraction.

* * *

The neck of Tobirama’s dress was high, but the hemline was short enough to draw attention to long, lean legs. She didn’t bother accentuating them with heels—didn’t need to. Her hair was as short as ever—albeit, laying smoothly, it fell to her chin—because even as a woman Tobirama was practical. The strands were a deep, reddish mahogany, while her eyes were slate grey—his normal colours mirrored darkly. Sharp features had been shifted _just_ enough that no one would make the connection, and her face was bare of makeup except for bold, red lipstick the colour of blood—arterial, not venous like Tōka’s, who had insisted the brighter shade worked better with his skin tone.

Stepping into the bar, it was obvious what she was there for, so when she scanned the room assessingly, more than one man straightened up hopefully or threw her a leering look. None of them were quite right though. None of them made her pulse race or her blood warm. And it was rare enough that Tobirama could get away from the village and all his responsibilities to let off some steam—if she was doing this, she was going to make it _count_.

It was a man at the bar who finally caught her eye. He was facing away, hadn’t noticed her, so there was no way to tell if he’d even be interested, but…

Tobirama had a type, and that type was _well-built_. Not necessarily tall—though he didn’t object to that—but _broad_. He liked wide shoulders, and strong hands, and thick muscle. Also, hair—he liked it long enough to play with.

The man at the bar was ticking all her boxes. He had long, wild, ash-brown hair, drawn back in a high tail. He wasn’t tall—shorter than her male form, but probably eye level with her current transformation. That was fine though, because the _shoulders_ on that man… and the muscles she could see cording forearms where they rested on the bar…

It was enough to make her _want_.

Tobirama strode over confidently, sat beside him, and leaned in enough to be flirtatious but not invasive.

“Hello, I’m Bira,” she introduced in her female form’s smoky tones. She met his gaze head-on when he turned to look at her, glancing away only long enough to trace down his chest then up again, briefly lingering on lips, then back to green eyes. It was _very_ clear what she wanted—Tobirama had never been one to equivocate when direct action would work just as well—and to her delight, after a moment of startlement, he returned the look with interest.

“Buchi,” he replied in a raspy voice. “You a local? I’m just passing through.”

Translation: _If you’re looking for more than a good time, I can’t give you that._

She grinned, unfettered as she rarely dared to be as Tobirama Senju, too conscious of expectations and duty. “I’m passing through as well. Want to keep me company this evening?”

Buchi grinned back, all teeth and bite and… vaguely familiar? But no, there was nothing in his features she recognised, so she brushed it aside as he nodded, pushed back his drink and let her lead him out of there.

There was a hotel just around the block, and she’d already booked a room. He was wary at first as they stepped inside, checking for traps and exits, but Tobirama wasn’t surprised—you didn’t get muscles like that from a life of leisure, and the callouses she’d felt on his hands were clearly from handling weapons. But even with her chakra suppressed, which limited her sensory perception, she could tell that his own reserves were small—more than most civilians but not enough for an active ninja—so Tobirama figured he was probably a freelance mercenary or something, one of those civilian fighters who were adequate to guard against non-ninja threats.

Not dangerous then, not to her, but… strong enough that she didn’t have to worry about holding back _too_ much.

She shut the door with a hip, then grabbed the front of his shirt and tugged him close, roughly enough that his body shoved hers into the wall. Buchi gave her a thoughtful look, then watched closely as he grasped her hips and pushed her back a little harder. When her eyes only lidded, smirk curling her lips, his hands dropped down to her thighs, blunt nails digging in as he tugged her legs round his waist and ground _hard_.

“Is this how you want it?” he checked, giving her a biting kiss.

Tobirama hummed in approval. “So long as you ascribe to turnabout being fair play.” And then she wrapped fingers in his high tail and yanked, baring his throat, and scraped teeth down the long line of it.

He tensed briefly, then relaxed, shuddering.

“ _Absolutely_ ,” he said, voice low and dark.

He gripped her thighs bruisingly tight as he pulled away from the wall. When he let go to deposit her on the bed, Tobirama made an annoyed sound at the separation, and then a pleased one as she watched him strip efficiently, quickly doing likewise. Buchi’s body was just as broad and well-muscled as she’d pictured. He was a warm, heavy weight when he lowered himself atop her, pressing her into the mattress.

They kissed and touched, not the least bit tender, but by no means unsatisfying. This wasn’t about softness and affection—it was two hungry strangers meeting in the night, determined to wring every bit of pleasure they could from one another before parting ways.

When Buchi shifted lower to appreciate her breasts, Tobirama hummed. And when he _bit_ , just this side of painful, she hissed, nails raking bloody lines over his shoulders, but she also arched her back in demand for more. He chuckled but obliged her until she grew impatient, and then he moved lower still. Tobirama’s breath caught, and when he glanced up questioningly she spread her legs wide.

The first dart of tongue was more tease than touch. He traced almost delicately along the outer edge of her lips, then over the hood of her clit, but never quite touching. Using fingers to pry her open, he pressed an opened-mouthed kiss to her centre. And maybe, some other time and place, she’d like the way he was taking his time, would lay back and wallow in it. But not tonight—tonight Tobirama wanted it quick and rough and dirty.

She tugged out his hair tie, buried fingers in the freed locks, gripped tightly, and directed him where she wanted him to go. Buchi’s chuckle this time was edged with a growl, and there was no more teasing. He latched onto her clit, sucking, tongue lashing back and forth. Tobirama all but rode his face, and when two fingers pressed inside her, it took no time at all for the building pressure to burst. Her free hand twisted in the sheets as she cried out, high and breathless.

He lapped at her as she panted for breath, not stopping even as she whimpered at the overstimulation—probably because her hand was still tangled in his hair, not letting him retreat. When she finally let go, Buchi sat back on his heels, grabbed her hips, and flipped her over before pulling them up high. Tobirama rested her cheek on folded arms and looked over her shoulder through her lashes, just to see the way his gaze darkened as she arched her back in an obscene display he didn’t even _try_ to resist.

“Fuck,” he groaned as he pushed into her.

Tobirama just moaned, face pressed to her forearms.

A pause, and then Buchi’s strong hands were tangling in _her_ hair this time, fingers splayed wide and close to the scalp so as not to truly sting. He pulled until she arched further, till she couldn’t brace herself on the bed and reached arms over her head instead, clasping behind his neck.

“Okay?” he asked, double-checking, and she groaned her approval and _moved_ , fucking herself back into him. And that was all the assurance he needed thankfully, hips snapping forward, thrusts sharp and a little mean and just _perfect_.

* * *

Later, once they’d both got what they came for, they cleaned and dressed, casual in one another’s company but not trusting, not _intimate_ —they were still strangers. They closed up behind them and Tobirama left the key at the check-in desk. Stepping out onto the street, they paused. Tobirama gave Buchi a long look before pulling him into one last biting kiss.

“Thanks,” she said. “This was _exactly_ what I needed.”

He grinned. “Unexpected, for me, but by no means unwanted.”

And then they went their separate ways.

Neither looked back. 

* * *

Tobirama and Madara had been sparring regularly for a while. It had been Izuna’s suggestion, surprisingly enough. After another of their arguments had reduced Hashirama to a wailing, tearful mess because, “Why can’t you just _get along!?_ ” Izuna had thrown up his hands in frustration—the only melodramatics Izuna had patience for were his own—and suggested they take it to a training field and settle their issues like proper ninja.

Tobirama and Madara had exchanged looks, and when it became clear they both liked the idea of beating the snot out of each other in the name of village harmony, they’d nodded and headed off at once.

As they were halfway out the door, Izuna had muttered, “Maybe you’ll resolve your UST while you’re at it,” and Madara, suddenly flustered, had tripped and brained himself on the doorframe.

They’d had to reschedule their match for after the concussion healed, but reschedule they did.

It had gone so well, their interactions so much _easier_ in the wake of their spar, that they’d made it a regular occurrence.

…Tobirama still had no idea what ‘UST’ was though. He’d tried asking Izuna, but he only smirked. Madara had flushed and spluttered, and Tobirama let it drop before he gave himself another concussion and delayed their next spar. Hashirama was genuinely clueless. Tōka, after demanding context, had just cackled at him and assured him he’d figure it out eventually. Mito had claimed to have _no idea_ , but her smile as she sipped her tea was a little too serene to trust.

In frustration, and thinking perhaps it was some new slang, Tobirama had even resorted to asking his students. Homura was as clueless as Hashirama. Hiruzen and Koharu, on the other hand, had been so _mortified_ that Tobirama decided maybe he really didn’t want to know.

Madara’s war fan came swinging at Tobirama’s head and he pushed aside his distraction—while their spars had lost the initial edge of hostility, Madara was still too skilled and enthusiastic an opponent to take lightly. Tobirama dodged the fan, but only at the last second, blade whipping by almost close enough to take off fingers. He managed to make the whole series of events look realistic enough that Madara didn’t suspect a thing. It was a struggle to hide the smug look, but he did, retreating to fire off a water dragon. Madara met it with a blast of flame, and the whole thing exploded into steam, forcing them both to pull back lest they be boiled alive.

_Perfect_.

With the distance between them, Madara expected at least a _little_ warning before an attack landed. He certainly didn’t expect Tobirama to instantly appear behind him, teleporting to the Hiraishin seal he’d discretely planted on his war fan. Tobirama didn’t hesitate, adding to the surprise with a small burst of fire—not his best element, his weakest in fact, but he did know a few jutsu—then darted back in anticipation of retaliation as Madara cursed, hastily tearing off his shirt which had been set alight.

“I think that’s my win,” Tobirama said from his perch in a tree at the clearing’s edge.

Madara glared up at him, then winced as moving his neck pulled at the burns. “I was… maybe caught off guard. A little.”

“If I’d drawn my sword, you’d be dead.”

Dark eyes narrowed. “When did you even—? Right, when you dodged that blow.” He huffed. “Fine, whatever. But you _set me on fire_ instead! At least have the decency to help me put burn salve on this, since it’s your fault.”

Tobirama paused long enough to make sure Madara was really conceding, and not just lulling him into a false sense of security—he’d done it before, and so had Tobirama for that matter—but Madara set his war fan aside and reached into a pouch for a jar, and his chakra was a little irked, but not poised to strike. Deeming it safe, Tobirama jumped down from the tree and approached.

“Here, turn around so I can run water over it first—wash out any debris.”

Grumbling, Madara did so. A small utility jutsu, used to fill canteens, had a gentle, cool flow of water washing over Madara’s red, slightly blistered back, and Tobirama frowned. There were rough cuts under the burns that he was sure weren’t his doing. Had Madara been sparring with someone else? He shoved aside his immediate indignation, telling himself he was being petulant. _He’d_ been the one avoiding Madara, not the other way around. If Madara had found someone else to spar with, it was Tobirama’s own fault, and he had no place to be acting like… like a spurned lover or—

Tobirama slapped a hand over his face at the comparison. Shit. Apparently his night off hadn’t been distraction enough, if his—gods, he thought resignedly, may as well admit it— _crush_ , was still acting up.

“Done?” Madara asked, holding the jar over his shoulder.

Tobirama snatched it from his grip and unscrewed the lid. He smoothed a thin layer over the reddened areas, trying not to be distracted by skin and muscle. Once he was done, he hovered a hand overtop it, pulsing chakra, which reacted with the ingredients and set the salve to steaming. Madara grunted, then sighed in relief and grabbed his abandoned shirt. Finding a clean, uncharred corner, he reached behind his back to wipe the salve away, revealing unburned skin beneath—it really wasn’t surprising that the Uchiha, being a fire-aligned clan, had developed such an effective method for dealing with burn injuries.

Seeing the spots the awkward reaching missed, Tobirama sighed. Cursing the vague comradery they’d developed between sniping at one another—cursing himself for _tempting_ himself—Tobirama reached for the shirt with a, “Here, let me.” He firmly wiped the rest off, but when he reached Madara’s shoulder blades, the man hissed.

“Careful!”

“Sorry, I thought I’d got it all.” Tobirama wiped more gently.

“Only heals burns. Those are—” Madara coughed, and the back of his neck turned red.

Meanwhile, Tobirama had frozen, because those cuts had finally been revealed in full, and they weren’t cuts at all. They were scratches. _Nail_ scratches. Perhaps two days old, starting from the shoulder blades and dragging up over his shoulders. The sort of marks someone might leave in the heat of passion.

…Alarmingly similar to marks _Tobirama_ remembered leaving _two days ago_ , on a stranger in a hotel room.

“You’re fucking kidding me,” he breathed.

Madara turned with a scowl. “What!? You think I’m so undesirable that no one would want to—?”

“No,” Tobirama interrupted, before he could read too much into the faintly hurt tone under Madara’s ire. Because observer bias was a thing, and Tobirama was _not_ impartial. He might see something he _wanted_ to see rather than what was actually there. Just because Madara was upset at the idea of someone thinking him undesirable _didn’t_ mean that he wanted _that_ someone in particular—Tobirama—to desire him.

“‘No’ _what_!?”

“That’s not what I meant.” Taking a deep breath, Tobirama met Madara’s gaze. “Buchi?”

Madara’s eyes went wide with shock.

Shit. Shit, shit, _shit_. It was really— He had really— with _Madara_!

Tobirama was suddenly remembering a stranger—who apparently _wasn’t_ one—putting his mouth between her legs, and hands pulling her hair, and being fucked so hard she’d walked away with an indulgent ache. He felt his own cheeks heat, just slightly, and clawed for composure.

“How did you—?” Madara’s arms swung wildly. He jabbed one forward, finger pointed in accusation. “Did you _follow me_?” he demanded. Then, scandalised, “ _How much did you see_!?”

Oddly, the more worked up Madara got, the easier it was to be calm. Tobirama watched him flail with a certain detached amusement.

“Well!?” Madara demanded again.

“I didn’t follow you. Or spy on you—I’m not a peeping Tom.”

“Oh. Then… someone else saw. And mentioned it.” Madara crossed his arms, looking away. But he was peeking at Tobirama from the corner of his eye as he nervously explained, “She— I didn’t even know her. It was just a casual thing. Not— not a relationship or anything!”

“You don’t need to defend yourself. Having sex isn’t a crime.”

“Yes, but… just so you know. I’m not— not _with_ her. Or _anyone_.” Madara flushed again, head turning away fully. “Not that it’s any business of yours!”

Once again, Tobirama tried to tell himself that he was reading too much into things, seeing what he _wanted_ to see.

“Wait,” Madara said, suddenly frowning. “I used the Transformation Jutsu, suppressed my chakra—just wanted a night out drinking in peace. How did whoever it is even know it was me?”

If that wasn’t his cue, nothing was, so Tobirama bluntly stated, “Because she— _I_ —was under a transformation as well.”

Madara stared blankly, mind clearly refusing to make the connection. “…You?” 

“Bira. And I remember leaving those scratches when you bit my—”

Madara lunged, pressing hands over Tobirama’s mouth, face a deep red. Then he yelped, pulling back like he’d touched a hot stove. Flailing, his mouth opened and closed as he searched for words. In the end, what emerged was a shrill, “ _Since when are you a woman!?_ ”

“Since I had breasts,” Tobirama said matter-of-factly.

Madara glanced down, then hurriedly looked away. “You don’t right now! …Right?”

“No. Because I’m a man.”

“What? Wait.” Madara rubbed his face. When he looked up, his expression was awkward and kind of tentative. “You… I mean… you know if you want to be addressed as a woman, you just have to say so, right? Like, ‘she’ and ‘her’ and…” He flapped a hand. “Even if you’re not transformed.”

“I’m aware,” Tobirama snorted, but wasn’t truly annoyed. This wasn’t just Madara being thick—Tobirama had realised that back when Hashirama first suggested Tobirama might be gender confused.

_That_ had been a terribly awkward, but highly amusing conversation in hindsight. Hashirama had tried to be _sensitive_ about the issue. But for all his compassion and general affability, _delicate_ was rarely one of Hashirama’s strengths. He was more the social version of a bull in a china shop—or perhaps something more lovable but clumsy, like an oversized puppy. It often caused Mito to despair after one diplomatic kerfuffle or another—there was a _reason_ she, rather than the elected Hokage, was Konoha’s official ambassador.

So yes, Hashirama’s efforts had been _awkward_ , as he tried to talk around the issue so much—with a soppy, tearful speech about being true to one’s self, and promising he’d love Tobirama no matter what—that Tobirama was left genuinely clueless what he was getting at. Hashirama had finally thrown up his hands and blurted his concern out directly—that he worried that the depth of Tobirama’s immersion in his female transformations had a deeper meaning than just changing pronouns for convenience and logic’s sake.

Apparently other people were a _lot_ more definitive about their gender than Tobirama.

Hashirama insisted that using the Transformation Jutsu, for him, was more like donning a costume, and even if he had breasts, he was still a _he_. Tobirama might have chalked it up to one of his brother’s peculiarities, but even sensible Mito backed him up, and Tōka too—who was often more likely to disagree just to stir the pot—insisting they were women even if they wore a male form.

Tobirama had been forced to accept that it was one of his own _personal_ peculiarities then, rather than a Hashirama one. It wouldn’t be the first time his version of logic had butted up against the rest of the world’s and clashed.

So no, it wasn’t Madara being thick.

And there was a simple enough way to explain things.

Raising his hands, Tobirama transformed into ‘Bira’, ignoring the way Madara froze, swallowing hard at the very definite proof that she _had_ been the woman from the bar. “Breasts—woman.” The jutsu dispelled. “Dick—man.” Ignoring Madara’s fluster at his crude language, Tobirama added, “That is how I’m comfortable viewing it. I feel no pressing need to be one or the other. I’m most often a man because it’s simpler, requiring no jutsu alteration.”

“…Right. Okay,” Madara said, nodding and accepting it. “Wait—if you don’t actually care for male or female, why bother with ‘Bira’ at all? If you just wanted to, you know, _hook up_ anonymously, a male transformation would be easier to maintain! Less alteration.”

“I’ve long since mastered the Transformation Jutsu, so the additional strain is negligible. Also…” Tobirama tilted his head, smirking slightly. “It’s _much_ easier to pick up men as a woman. I hardly have to try… as you amply proved.”

Madara flailed. “That’s not— Are you calling me _easy_!? I will have you know that I have _high_ standards—the _highest_!”

“And I met them?”

Inwardly, Tobirama paused. Was he… was he _flirting_ with Madara? He was! That was… He wasn’t sure what to think of that.

Actually, he knew _exactly_ what to think of that. He was thinking that it was far past time to accept that ignoring his horribly persistent crush wouldn’t make it go away. He was remembering the not-too-long-ago revelation that Madara liked women _and_ men, and that he was one of the few people Tobirama spent regular time with, the way he’d seen a part of Tobirama even Hashirama never had, and the trust he’d shown by allowing him to take Kagami as a student. Not to mention the fact that, by some terrible twist of fate, he was _exactly_ Tobirama’s type.

Wait!

Tobirama’s gaze skimmed over Madara’s body, and he felt his cheeks heat because, gods, he hadn’t changed it at all had he? Same broad shoulders, same muscles, same strong hands. Even the hair had been identical, just pulled back and dyed! ‘Buchi’ had been _Madara_ , just with a different face and colouring and a rasp to his voice. If he stripped the man down, he’d probably even find the same scars on his legs, because the ones visible on his torso _already_ matched, as did the calluses on his hands.

…Shit. No. He _was not_ imagining getting Madara naked and jumping him right there in the middle of a training field.

Thankfully, Madara took that moment to finish spluttering. He opened his mouth to argue, or maybe try to defend himself only to put his foot in his mouth—either would work fine as a distraction—only to freeze, colour draining from his face and eyes going wide and wild. Tobirama half-expected them to spin into Sharingan at any moment.

“Oh gods we _slept together_! Your brother will kill me!”

Tobirama rolled his eyes. “We _fucked_ , Uchiha,” he said primly. “Don’t pretty it up.”

The blood returned to Madara’s face so quickly, and with such intensity, that Tobirama vaguely worried for his blood pressure.

“THAT’S _WORSE_! HE’LL KILL ME _SLOWLY_!”

Tobirama frowned. “Hashirama has no say in my sex life. He learned that the hard way.”

Madara paused mid-flail. “…Do I want to know?”

“I got tired of his cockblocking attempts when we were younger and started ignoring them.” He shrugged. “He only had to walk in on some mild petting _once_ before butting out.”

It really had been remarkably effective. Hashirama had screeched, tried to claw his eyes out, then sobbed for a while on Tōka’s shoulder till she lost patience. Which hadn’t actually taken very long—Tōka had a low bullshit tolerance. She’d then begun graphically detailing the _much more explicit_ things Hashirama might have seen if he’d barged in a little later, and in fact might _still_ see if he kept up the overbearing, overprotective big brother routine.

Hashirama had adopted a policy of wilful obliviousness ever since.

Some days, Tobirama thought his brother might _actually_ have convinced himself that Tobirama was as pure as the driven snow, despite all evidence to the contrary.

“Hashirama won’t be an issue.”

Madara still looked uncertain, but willing to believe—hope—for now. “Okay. Good. That’s… good.”

“Mmhmm.”

“What—?” Madara looked at the ground for a moment, then up at Tobirama, oddly hesitant. “What does this mean? For us? Not that it has to mean something! Obviously casual sex is just… casual.”

Tobirama licked his lips. Madara’s eyes followed his tongue. “What do you want it to mean?”

Madara scowled. “I asked first!”

“I suppose that’s up to us. All I wanted from Buchi—all you wanted from Bira—was sex. No strings.”

Madara’s face _fell_. And Tobirama… he let himself hope, just a bit.

“But I’m not Bira, and you’re not Buchi,” Tobirama said slowly. “We’re not strangers. So I guess the question is… do we want to ignore it ever happened, or… do we want to revisit that, as ourselves?”

“Revisit?” Madara echoed, eyes wide, and took a step closer. “You would want that?”

“Well, it wasn’t _bad_ sex.”

“Well. No. Though…” He frowned. “Is that how you always like it? Sort of… rough. Because that was fine—great!—but I’d like to…”

Tobirama tilted his head. “Do you want to be _good_ to me, Madara?” he teased.

The other man flushed, but he didn’t look away. He met Tobirama’s eyes squarely, letting him see something… something _more_ there.

“… _Oh_.”

Madara huffed. “Yeah. ‘Oh’. I— Look, I like you, okay? As in _like_ like you.”

“ _Like_ like?” Tobirama said, amused. But when Madara’s shoulders tensed and he leaned back, like he’d step away, Tobirama moved forward so they were chest to chest and admitted, “I maybe _like_ like you as well. Have done for a while now. It’s terrible.”

Madara laughed, tension easing. “Maybe not so terrible now?” He curled hands behind Tobirama’s neck, drawing him down, and whispered against his lips, “Maybe not terrible at all?”

Tobirama hummed and slid his lips over Madara’s. Because yes, if he could have this—if Madara wanted him too—then suddenly his crush was… _not terrible_.

The kissing was not terrible as well. _Really_ not terrible. Enough that, when Madara tugged at his belt, muttering something about, “Even the playing field—only fair,” Tobirama obligingly shrugged his shirt off, then tugged both their pants down for good measure. He caught their cocks in his hand, and Madara’s fingers laced overtop his, touching, stroking, and driving one another over the edge.

“We—” Madara panted in the aftermath, “we just had sex _in a training field_.”

“Hmm.”

“What if someone saw!?”

Tobirama drew back, partly annoyed at Madara’s insistence on interrupting the afterglow, but mostly amused and… and _fond_. Because this—ridiculousness and bluster and flailing—was as much a part of the man he’d fallen for as anything else.

Wait, ‘ _fallen for_ ’? Was he really that far gone?

“To clarify,” Tobirama said carefully, heart in his throat, “this wasn’t just a one-time revisit to our last encounter… was it?”

“ _No_.” Madara lurched forward, wrapping arms around Tobirama like he was afraid he’d disappear. “No, it’s— I’m— I want this to _be_ something. I want _us_ to be something.”

“Good.”

“Good?”

“Very good.”

Madara stared at him for a long moment. “Will you run if I tell you that, despite being a sanctimonious prick at times, I love you?”

“Depends,” Tobirama said, feeling giddy. “Will _you_ run if I tell you that, despite being an argumentative arsehole, I love you as well?”

A smile spread over Madara’s lips, slowly growing until it was all teeth and bite. And Tobirama… he once again lamented his obliviousness. Because how— _how_ —could he not have remembered where he’d seen ‘Buchi’s’ grin before?

“Your place?” Tobirama asked in a low tone.

Madara grimaced. “Izuna barges in as he pleases. I don’t want my little brother walking in on me having sex. I’d be scarred for life—we _both_ would. Yours?”

“Well trapped,” Tobirama mused, “since I run experiments there occasionally, and _can’t_ risk people just barging in. And Hashirama knows better than to invade my private space. He’s _already_ been scarred for life, and won’t risk it happening again.”

Madara half winced, half laughed. “Hiraishin us, so we don’t have to bother trying to look presentable for a walk through the village?”

Looking down at the mess of their pants, Tobirama immediately agreed. Once they’d hastily gathered their scattered clothes and weapons, he wrapped his arms around Madara and teleported them away.

* * *

Some time and a great deal of pleasure later, Tobirama pressed a soft kiss to the knob of Madara spine as he pulled out and settled beside him instead. Madara rolled to one side and shuffled closer so they could exchange lazy kisses. Everything was warm and right, but… something was niggling at Tobirama, and he finally voiced it.

“That was _amazing_ , and I love you—”

“Me too,” Madara interrupted, and pressed a slow, sincere kiss to his lips.

“Hmm, good. _But_ …” Tobirama shot him a flirty look from under his lashes. “I really hope you’re not an exclusive bottom with men, because that’d be a _tragic_ waste of such a nice cock.” He glanced down and licked his lips, just to hammer the point home.

Madara spluttered, and then laughed, faintly flushed. “I’m not,” he assured Tobirama, then flashed that sharp grin. “Give me a bit to recover and I’ll _prove_ it.”

Tobirama grinned back, for once free and _honest_ despite not wearing a disguise. “Looking forward to it.”

* * *

They woke slowly the next day, curled up together with faces nuzzled close, perfect for trading sleepy kisses that should have been unpleasant with morning breath, but just felt soft and comfortable. The build-up was slow, dreamlike, and when need became pressing, Tobirama paused for a moment to perform the Transformation Jutsu.

At Madara’s bemused look, she explained, “I think we’re both a bit… achy, for the alternative.”

Which was true enough. Unlike their first, anonymous time together, yesterday hadn’t been rough—Madara more than living up to his promise to be _good_ to Tobirama—but it had been… _thorough_. Their spar had ended early afternoon, and after retreating to the privacy of Tobirama’s house, they’d not really come up for air—except briefly for clean-up and something quick to eat—until exhaustion finally caught up in the early hours of the morning.

So yes, he was a bit too sore to take Madara that way, and the reverse was almost certainly true. But like this, well, _she_ hadn’t taken anyone since ‘Buchi’.

Noticing Madara’s curious look, Tobirama stretched out and lay back for him to trace eyes and hands along her body. Like all her most preferred female guises, she was still long and lean, breasts modest but well-shaped and hair short. This wasn’t ‘Bira’ though. This time she looked like _herself_ —hair still a puff of white, pale skin marked with the callouses and scars of ninja life, face traced with tattoos, and eyes ruby-hued.

Madara shifted downward between spread thighs, pressing a soft kiss there, and declared, “This time, I’m going to _take my time_.”

Tobirama just sighed and relaxed and _enjoyed_ it. Only once she’d come twice did she tug at Madara’s hair—gently, more tease than demand—until he rose up over her and slid inside. And when next she came it was _with_ Madara. _Together_.

They lay peacefully in the afterglow for some time. Madara’s weight rested comfortably atop Tobirama, head pillowed on her breasts, as she ran lazy hands through his long hair. When she hummed thoughtfully, he made a questioning sound.

“It looked good in a high tail,” she recalled.

His head tilted enough to dart a smile up at her. “Oh?”

“I’m wondering about a braid.”

“Don’t know how.”

“…I could do it?” she offered, tone faintly hopeful despite her effort to seem casual.

He grinned, all teeth and bite and _knowing_. And smug, the jerk. “If you insist. I wouldn’t want to _deprive_ you.”

She huffed and glanced away, shoving him off and getting up… and also looking around for a brush—annoyed or not, she was _absolutely_ getting her fingers in that hair again. Absently reaching for her chakra to dismiss her transformation, Tobirama froze just before doing so as something pinged her senses.

Her eyes went very, _very_ wide.

“Tobirama?” Madara sat up, shoving his hair back and giving her a confused look. “What’s wrong?”

Perhaps she’d imagined it? But no, that was _definitely_ a tiny spark of chakra she was sensing.

_New_ chakra.

New _life_.

Her hand trailed down to rest low on her stomach as she said, faintly, “I had _no idea_ my Transformation Jutsu was _that_ robust.”

Madara stared blankly for a moment until it clicked. And then he gawked, jaw hanging and eyes bugging out. It was the most unattractive thing she’d ever seen him do, but Tobirama barely noticed, busy staring down at her midsection feeling terrified… and also, something entirely the opposite. Because there was a tiny being growing inside her. A piece of life that was half her and half the one she loved, something she’d never _imagined_ she could have, not with her inclination for men, and—

Madara’s hand came to rest over hers—gently, so, _so_ gently—and their eyes met. She saw the matching shock there, the matching wonder and awe, and knew he agreed:

This was going to be a _good thing_.

* * *

When they arrived at the tower—Izuna took one look at them, and his expression twisted somewhere between relief and disgust.

“Oh thank _fuck_ you finally sorted your UST.”

**Author's Note:**

> ‘Bira’ was plucked awkwardly from the middle of To _bira_ ma. ‘Buchi’, on the other hand, is an alternate pronunciation of the kanji for Madara’s name. (Probably. I don’t speak Japanese, so I’m relying on teh internets. Which would _surely_ never lead me wrong!)
> 
> Also, I contemplated tagging ‘Sexfluid Tobirama’ as well for technical accuracy but… er, well, I challenge anyone to say ‘sexfluid’ and not snicker at the double entendre.
> 
>  _Also_ also, I have these summaries for my fics-in-progress. Not the summaries I use when I post, just… little blurbs for personal reference, so if I leave a story and come back to it I can be like “oh right, _that one_ ”. Sometimes these blurbs amuse me. This time, I’ve decided to share:
>
>> Gives-no-fucks genderfluid Tobirama be like: but breasts, vagina—obviously am a woman right now. And poof, dick again—male again. Hashirama (and most of the world) be like: _nooo_ , that’s not how it works! Tobirama side-eyes rest of the world, totally Judging their illogic. Shrugs and moves on, all: whatever, I’mma do my own thing.
>> 
>> Tobirama: does own thing. Gets laid. (Anon hook-up _totally_ Madara! Shh, don’t tell.) Realises: fuck, Transformation Jutsu more robust than expected. Hi, baby chakra spark! Oops?
>> 
>> DRAMA!
>> 
>> Aaaand eventual fluffy, get-together, happily-ever-after-with-baby feels. (Probs will skip drama. Cannot write it.)
>> 
>> Also smut. Lots of smut.
> 
> Obviously I deviated from the original plot. Because it occurred to me that clans with bloodlines would be _really fricking_ careful about procreation. (Just assume ‘Bira’ and ‘Buchi’ used some sorta protection.) So there’s still an oops baby, but it’s because they were careless as _themselves_ , not with a stranger… if you can _call_ the completely unprecedented knocking up of a gender-bended transformation careless. *shrugs*


End file.
